


Hello, Darling

by redhouseclan



Category: Spooks | MI-5
Genre: F/M, Lucas Lives, Lucas fic, Ros is a fluffy bunny, ohh jumbo plot twist, original oc crossover story, spooks/ MI5, takes place around/after season 9
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-19 18:57:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4757330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhouseclan/pseuds/redhouseclan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a chance meeting puts Aria and her 'curse' in the path of a one unknowing Lucas North on a plane to London from NYC, who knows what adventure she is in for. But are they aware of how far both of their destinies are intertwined? And by who? Lucas/OFC</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It Will Get Better

 

You thought that a quick hop over the pond for a few weeks would be fun and life altering like Julia Roberts in that movie, no not Pretty Woman, the one with the food… Eat, Pray, Love. Well you will definitely eat, you hardly pray except for when you need that parking space on Lone Mtn. Road, and you will definitely not be loving anyone anytime soon. In the back of your mind you also think it will help you forget the look on Sean’s face when you told him you didn’t love him in that way. You two have been best friends since you could remember the lyrics to A Whole New World from that time you marathoned Aladdin because you wanted to escape the foster home you were living in, but felt guilty thinking that when you realized that it brought you to Sean. From that moment on you were attached at the hip, both destines intertwined with one another’s but just not in the way he wanted.

 

“But Aria…I…I love you!! You can’t keep running from everything that you think might get attached to you, God!! Ari, we’ve been friends for 17 years, do you think that deserves something more a ‘yeah you too’?” Sean growls out dragging his hands through his sandy brown hair, staring at you with pleading eyes.

 

You feel bad, horrible actually since he just confessed his long kept secret for almost all your life and you know you are too broken to love him back. It’s not as if you DON’T love him, you love him with your whole being, you care for him as a brother. You remember all of the times he let you cry into his shoulder after you told him how you became a foster kid, how he always shared his lunch with you at school because your foster mom told you that bad girls deserve nothing because they are nothing. He deserves better than you and you tell him that.

 

“Listen Sean, I do love you just not the way you deserve,” you peek out under your lashes to see a frown on his angular face, “it’s just that…that you deserve better, you deserve more than what I give you, we both know that. You need someone like…like Anna from downstairs in 2B, she is actually pretty cool,” you joke but you honestly mean it, they are perfect for each other. “ I can’t be what you want but I can be your best friend, do you remember the time we made a blood pact to always be friends behind the slides in 2nd grade?” His face is calm, his body loses the tension that he knows makes you cringe, he always knows how to make you feel better. “Yeah, I remember. I just thought that the time was right you know? I didn’t want to be a coward who tells you when it too late, like at your wedding,” he chuckles, “I get it Ari, I’m fine with staying friends, I just need some time, okay?,” you nod.

 

“Ari are you sure you want to go to England during the winter?,” he sighs changing the subject while scraping his ever growing stubble he gives you one last glance filled will longing and heartbreak straight into your eyes, you look away not wanting to see the pain that you caused, you always cause pain, you don’t deserve him. You stick you hands into your pockets, damn it why do they make girl pockets so freaking tiny?!? You mutter mentally.

 

“Yeah I’m sure, you know I always whine about not being able to visit the Thames or Haddon Hall in Derbyshire or the Tower of London or West End or Cumbria or Brighton or the Eye or—” he covers your mouth with his hand, his hands are always warm, the hot to your cold, you look up and see a glint in his eyes at your rambling. “Yes I do know, you never shut up about it, so I guess its all good between us then? The Three Amigos forever?” he says with a laugh, you are indeed the Three Amigos ever since he got you that beta fish from the fair for your birthday, Smeagol you named him, while he spat out his hot chocolate on your floor in a laugh at the impromptu christening in the sink.

 

Pulling your suitcase behind you, you look at you crappy apartment you’ve called home for the last 7 years and say, “yeah we’re good, we always are,” giving him a tight hug you remind him to feed Smeagol and not to let him die. Locking up you start to march down the stairs, the bloody lift is broken yet again. Guffawing at you waddling down with your bags, Sean marches upstairs to his apartment.  Growling you mutter, “You could at least help me lazy git! These stairs are freaking 2 inches wide!” He laughs louder, “Good thing you have such tiny feet!” Giggling you yell goodbye with a promise of a phone call when you land at each airport.

 

After landing at JFK at 1 in the morning you realize that it’s too early to call Sean so you leg it to the next flight for Heathrow that leaves in an hour. Sprinting through the throngs of strangers you accidentally hit someone with your violin case. You don’t actually play it enough to sound good you only bought it because you really like the color, a deep cherry with hints of amber and chocolate on the body and ebony pegs that shine with an inner light. Though you did manage to learn the song from Queen of the Damned, the one that they played on the beach and the theme song to Sherlock, and you are damn proud of it too.

 

Stumbling in surprise and horror you curse your clumsiness under your breath, turning painstakingly toward the stranger you clobbered and you stare into a wide chest. It is a nice chest you realize. Confused at your sudden rapid heartbeat you decide that it’s just the awkwardness, not hormones flooding your brain, it’s just a stupid chest!

But it is so nice covered in black cotton and leather! Shut up brain. You snap out of your dazed look, gulping you raise your eyes higher looking at dark stubble and thin sensual lips, cue Takei’s ‘oh my…’, they morph from an irritated scowl to a sudden smirk and you look higher up into cerulean eyes with hints of steel blue flecks. Oh mama mia.

 

Tearing your gaze away from the mystery man’s hypnotic eyes you look at the floor and blather for dear life, “Oh my Odin! I am soo sorry! I usually don’t go around assaulting people with a violin! No siree. Hehe… Nope, never, except that time that I ran to the bus, that poor old lady! Though in all honestly it wasn’t a lady but some hippie who was stealing solar lights from the preschool yard so no harm done karma wise, hehe…”

 

Now there is an awkward silence, you start wishing the earth’s crust would swallow you up now and feed you to the core. A low and hearty chuckle is felt somewhere near the top of your head, you feel the hot breath caress you exposed ear. Oh boy this is bad, you never feel attracted to anyone, you even made a plan where you promised yourself you would never fall in love because it will always break you in the end. Not that you love him or he, a total stranger, would love you, shut up brain! He could be a killer or a telemarketer!! Though Jean from Netpro was nice.

 

Biting your lip like you always do when feeling confused or just plain feeling, you hear ol’ blue eyes and look up, “All is forgiven, you should watch where you’re going in this place, you never know what you might…bump into,” he smirks in his very distinguishable English accent, did he just? What? Is that innuendo? Hell if you know know, you haven’t been to an airport in so long they might just have sex shops in this place next to the Panda Express, so unsanitary.

 

Wait a second is he laughing at me? Before you have a chance to retort or use your infamous Edgewater glare a tall, very intimidating blonde woman strides over. Mr. Cerulean’s smirk vanishes instantly, in place of the amused gleam in his eyes is a cold, calculating stare. Creepy. The woman who is totally rocking the jeans and leather jacket duo and smooth light golden blonde shoulder length hair, okay hair is like a total fetish for you aka Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome’s think black hair (swoon), sidles up to link her arms in Mr. Hard Chest’s limp one, oh boy she is one of those chicks.

 

“Darling,” she drawls in her posh English accent, “the plane is ready to be boarded, we should hurry up so we won’t be late for our meeting,” she intones with obviously fake mirth and veiled dismissal. Just my luck the one guy whom I somewhat (I am kidding myself, aren’t I?) attracted to is taken and who flirted with me ( I think) , no bueno man. If there is one thing I am adamant about in people it is loyalty. Straight up ‘no bullshit, I have your back you have mine’ loyalty.

 

Glancing at the two linked arms I shoulder my violin case and grip the suitcase handle that feels like butter in my palms (hallelujah gel grips!), and look Mr. No Bueno in the eyes, “Sorry again, have a nice flight,” I say unsmilingly, noticing how his shoulders suddenly become tense, I quickly tilt my head to the woman born of ice and walk off toward my gate. Of all the wonderful English men and women I will meet I find these two loons, well pretty much the average couple of today, really, with the flirty flirt and possessiveness. Biology at its best ladies and gents. Why couldn’t they be unattractive and like crap clothes with Ed Hardy rhinestones on them. Groaning into my palm I hear my economy class being called. Ugh, I have always hated crowds and tried my best to avoid people, they tend to wallow to me possibly gravitating towards my worst trait ever, my empathy. I am an empathy, fun right? Not really. It is so exhausting and frustrating because I have literally no idea what I am actually feeling except when I am home alone. Seriously the worst thing when you find out that that person you are bawling to has a ‘traumatic childhood and intimacy and control issues’, i.e. me, you tend to get the clumsy pat on the shoulder and a ‘it’ll get better’ phrase. Worst comforter ever.

 

Hastily finding my seat in 10 seconds flat, I stuff my gear into the overhead compartment and lovingly place my violin in as well and plop down in my conquered window seat behind the right wing. Finally I can sleep for 18 hours without a toddler screaming into my ears, I am never flying JetBlue again, I swear on the life of my fish. Closing my eyes, I feel a warm arm brush against my shoulder, a spicy yet cooling scent drifts into my nostrils, its like when you eat something so hot that it feels oddly cool. Peeking through my left eye I quickly shut it when it meets Mr. No Bueno’s baby blues. Craaaaaaaap. Here we go, 18 hours should fly right by, right?

 

Closing my one eye so quickly I fail to notice his signature smirk. Seriously? Do they have smirking classes in England where they make these beautiful men? This guy must know of its affect on women and hell even men!! I see you 27A! Sensing his oncoming apology or flirting I pretend to be asleep. I am officially as lame as the carpeting of this plane, maybe even more.

 

“ I owe you an apology,” he rumbles. You think, ya gorgeous git! “I am sorry for being a… how did she say it ‘a bloody sodding man’,” he chuckles, for some inexplicable reason you feel, as a freaking empath, that this is the first time he truly felt happy, not because of you obviously, you look like the Grinch in your dark emerald green leather jacket Sean gave you to ‘enhance you messy sex-hair-like mane’ what a weirdo, what does sex-hair look like? You ponder as you gaze at your new plane exit buddy, oh no, bad idea, now he is looking at you. Crap he is probably staring at you scar, the oh so beloved scar (not) marring your bronze cheek and dark eyebrow, you bought scar cream a while back so now it has faded from dark brown to a slight bronze.

 

You face the window, pulling up your hood from under your leather jacket, two jackets are perfect for the freezing recycled plane air, gross. “No worries,” you say in a fake cheery voice, “it’s not like being a woman is any different,” you see his eyebrow raise in the widow’s reflection, you realize you may have just insulted his beloved girlfriend, you try to backtrack, “I mean pffftt we’re all different, practically a different species, though we all start of female in the womb, then suddenly it’s like ‘ohh look a boy’,” you are rambling again, halting in your words of utter wisdom and grace, shit. A breeze of warm cinnamon-y air pushes your messy strands of hair into your face, tickling your nose. Realizing that he is laughing loudly again, you turn around and practically are face to chest with the man again, the laughing stops. He stares into your deep brown eyes that ‘HE’ gave you. Feeling shy you look away again and ask where his girlfriend is, you mentally smack yourself in the head, you have no right to be jealous or for that matter even ask!

 

Facing him again to apologize you notice he looks tense and has faced away from you, he starts to speak coldly, “we got in a tiff and she demanded another seat in first class,” you realize he is probably angry at you for getting him into trouble with his ice queen, you quickly stutter an apology yet again and shift closer to the window, geez you apologized more to him than to Sean the Saint. He turns back to talk to you but before he says a single word the seatbelt light dings and the flight attendant loudly demonstrates everything amidst the birth of a plane. The captain saintly turns on the heating and you fall asleep before the exits speech begins.

 

Jolting awake to a feeling of utter agony and a helpless fury, you realize you are griping a blanket, hmm how did that get there? The man next to you grips his armrests until his knuckles are stark white. He is having a nightmare, you recognize it since you have one almost every night still, with the rare 3 hours of sleep. Knowing that waking him up might just earn you an unconscious punch you reason that you can’t stand other peoples pain no matter how much it hurts and exhausts you. You touch his hand and focus on the happiest and warmest memories you have stored in the vault, you think of the time your mother told you that you were going to be a big sister, you cling to this memory, to her face and the joy that filled you to bursting. Directing that feeling to him, his hand begins to relax on the armrest and his face is smooth, his lips curl up a bit, not in his signature smirk, but into the start of a beautiful smile.

 

Feeling worn out, you pant a bit in exhaustion, you have never reached into the vault in your life, not for Sean because he never needs it, you always need his comfort and warmth. You take a deep breath and fall into a deep sleep. Waking up mentally exhausted and physically drained you see a cup of juice and a Twinkie on your tray. What? Looking over the seats you realize that everyone is still asleep, you check you watch and see the time ‘4:00 a.m.’ blink at you. “Thank you,” a voice whispers in next to you with its rolling lilt and velvety warmth. It’s dark in the plane, only the lone reader and running lights show signs of life, peering into his shadowy face you whisper, “you’re welcome,” and thank him for the food and drink. He shrugs and tells you that you looked tired and pale so he thought some sugar would help your body regulate itself easier, shock and all. You wonder how he knows this? You do because you read random books , watch movies and research things when you’re bored, which is all the time.

 

“How did you do that?,” you freeze your movements, being an empath is rare in itself but transferring emotion and taking it away is even rarer. “What are you talking about?” you stutter, you feel his slight annoyance at you acting like he’s mental. “You know what I am talking about,” he whispers with a dangerous edge, though you know he would never hurt you, you just feel it. You sigh, might as well, something about this guy radiates determination, secrecy, oddly enough you feel as though you can trust him. “Do you really want to know?” he nods, “you have to promise me you will never tell anyone about this, are we clear?” “Crystal, please go on,” he encourages politely yet you feel eagerness and curiosity as his dominant emotions, hehe, men. Recognizing a sudden fear that was similar to when you told Sean, because you didn’t want him to think you were a freak you hesitant. He touches your hand lightly in assurance, feeling a bit stronger you blush a bit, knowing that surely he can feel the heat radiating off your face in waves.

 

Clearing your throat, you start off by telling him of feeling his emotions in his nightmare, he stiffens slightly, you notice it like you notice a sudden shift in the wind. “ Umm…I know those emotions, I know that kind of fear and anger, and I just didn’t want you to feel them anymore,” you feel a wave of protectiveness towards him and a burning fury towards those who hurt him. He looks at you, really looks at you.

 

* * *

 

Lucas POV

 

Ouch!! Bloody ouch!! Rubbing my side where my gunshot wound was healing I spot the ebony haired figure wobble inches in front of me. She freezes with her weapon of choice in her hand, hmm a violin, interesting…painstakingly turning around her eyes meet my chest, typical. Oddly enough, it’s not as annoying as usual, I don’t bend down to see her, she quickly raises her eyes to my chin, I have to hold in a chuckle. Looking into her deep brown eyes, I notice that it changes with the light. I do a quick profile: early twenties, musician, messy hair, left handed, has social anxiety hence the plowing of the crowds, techie since she has the same tired eyes as Tariq. She might be fun.

 

Before I could apologize she starts to ramble on about a hippie and Odin, she looks flustered…then I let out my chuckle, this bird is hilarious. Giving her my signature smirk that always turns women into fainting maidens, I decide to be a bit naughty. Something about this girl makes me feel lighter, free, and less…lonely. She gasps and stares at me in disbelief, before I could hear her glaring response, she freezes, looking over my shoulder I spot Ros headed my way. Bugger, it’s always about the mission and rules with her. Knowing that women are off-limits when not apart of the job she marches right over. Placing her arm through mine she turns on the act of jealous girlfriend, fuck! She rudely dismisses Violin Girl, who looks at our arms and assumes the correct picture so lovingly painted by the queen of Section D, bollocks!

 

Giving me a cold goodbye, it shocks me that all of her warmth that made me feel more human disappears, like someone threw a bucket of cold water at me and the  bloody bucket too. Ros quickly disengages her arm from mine and gives me a glare as well, if it isn’t my bloody week. “Lucas. Pay attention to the mission. You know that there’s no obstruction of the protocols, you are the key player in this, do not make me regret this,” she says with a satisfied smirk. “Did Harry tell you to tell me that?” I say mockingly, she may be my boss but she did make me loose that wonderful feeling of happiness. Her face turns to ice, she tells you that she’s taking your first class seat back to London and exchanging it to an economy class one. “Nice one,” you say with a smirk. Sighing you get on board after notifying your contact of their new pickup location and rundown the time and location. You call Harry who informs you of a terrorist ring in a south London flat that needs to be taken care off.

 

Feeling utterly nackered and peckish you quickly find your seat. Lo and behold it’s Violin Girl, well thank you Ros!! Given that she thinks you an utter twat you quietly sink down into the seat next to her. You immediately feel…kindred. You see her peek at you from the corner of her eye and hide. You start to feel like a total knob, even though you really weren’t, ‘it was all Ros’s idea’ you want to say but instead you stare at her scar, it looks at least 15 years old or less, not something you get from falling off a bike either, she feels your stare and turns away, so you offer an apology.

 

Feeling lighter that she accepts it you start to say something else but she begins to ramble again, you can’t help but laugh loudly, and she asks about Ros, you stiffen because you can’t tell her what really happened, so you stick to the cover of being in a relationship. After telling her the ‘tiff story’ she darts her eyes around the plane looking for Ros and quickly turns to the icy window, bollocks, she’s avoiding me, pretending to sleep too. With a quick laugh you decide to mentally check off your lists of contacts, books, foods, and missions, since…prison you’ve developed OCD habits. Once you finished you find her asleep. You flag down a stewardess for a blanket, these bloody planes get so cold.

 

You ask for a cuppa since you know you haven’t slept in 4 days to avoid the nightmares, the section therapist said no alcohol, it’s a stimulant ergo not great for brain work. You know that you are going to sleep on the plane, you know that if you do you will scare the shite out of this tiny thing sleeping next to you. Feeling the warm liquid fall down your throat, you shift slightly to fit better; bloody seats are too small for you. A weight falls onto your shoulder, she fell asleep on you, her presence helps you push away the anxiety of sleep and brings warmth to you, you fall asleep in a few minutes with the smell of caramel in your dreams.

 

You are back in Lushanka Prison. The cold stone under your back, numbing your skin. You picture Elizabeta in her fluffy robe making breakfast, her pale skin illuminating under the early rays of the sun and her long brown hair cascading down her back, you hang on to this memory, it helps with the pain and to remind you that Harry will come for you soon. HE is back, he has new ‘toys’ to play with. He circles you, you are hanging from chains keeping your cries of pain in, you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of yelling, he pokes you again with the hot rod, the tip is a molten red burning through your skin with a sizzle, the pain taking its time to reach your brain, the smell of burnt skin filling your nose, then you yell out. You endure this torture and many others like it for years, cursing Harry for leaving you to rot yet never telling them a single bloody thing. Your body is initiated, you request Demitri, the prison tattooist, to give you a chest piece of the Ancient of Days by Blake, you hand him your sketch. You being to despise your weakness and your worth, you want to be free, so you begin ripping your sheets, you climb the chair but before you jump a sweet feeling overcomes your whole being.

 

A feeling like none you have ever felt before, complete and utter joy, it’s trying to explode from you. You feel so light and happy that you start to smile, you see a beautiful woman, with long black hair and bronze skin, her stomach is round with child, she is speaking to a young girl who looks exactly like her, her big brown eyes change with the light and you immediately recognize Violin Girl. She looks completely happy and you realize that what you are feeling is coming from her. She fades away and you finally sleep in a peace that has always eluded until now.

 

You wake up rested, if only a few hours of sleep you feel happy and strong. This feeling is wonderful, it’s bliss, you remember the dream, the dream of her. You turn to your right and study her face, her scare has faded, it looks like a cut, it’s jagged from the bottom of her ear and thins out towards the top past her eyebrow, like a wound of broken bottle or glass. You know its 15 years old, you just do, she must have been at least five or six going by her age now, sudden violent rage swells up inside of you, you try to temper it with the memory of the girl and her mother. It helps and it carries you like water leading you to Morpheus’s hands.

 

You sense her waking and thank your sweet tooth that you rang for the food and drink, she was looking a bit peaky after you woke up. Intense curiosity and eagerness to ask her what happened builds up in like a crescendo inside of you. You thank her, she has no idea how much you owe her, how much she means…wait? Means? What does she mean? She nods and thanks you for your consideration, juice and a Twinkie, you hear her giggle at the Twinkie, you want to tell her that they’re practically the only American packaged food you love. You don’t. You can’t help but ask her what happened, she hesitates so you put your hand over hers knowing that it would calm her, she looks at you and you feel the heat from her blush brush your skin in warm waves. She wants you to promise her you won’t tell anyone, you assure her that you won’t, and you won’t. You want to help her, you feel kindred, you want to protect her but what you do will always endanger her, besides she will leave you after this flight lands.

  

She licks her lips and you stare at their plumpness and her sleepy eyes focus on your own. You feel that stare, that soul searching stare of hers that strips away your armor and reveals the real you, not Joh—not HIM, the gentle you that loves dogs, that craves chocolate anything, and the one that just wants peace. The kind of peace you get from her.

 

Before she explains your message tone dings, you excuse yourself and head to the lavatory. Flipping open the screen you see her, Violin Girl. A picture forwarded from Ros. This is the mission, SHE is the mission.


	2. Holy Crap-ola Batman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> enjoy at your leisure

Aria POV

Saved by the bell! Well, phone chim…it doesn’t matter.

You shake your head to clear the fog out of your brain, take a few deep breathes and blink a few times. You were so close to telling him what happened before he took off to the bathroom, too close. The eye contact you both made was super intense, like True Blood glamouring intense. You swear that his eyes could hypnotize you into doing anything for him, no question about it.

 

It’s not that you are blinded by his pleasing (okay _dashing_ ) appearance or confident smirk that makes you blush and your heart race, if you are being honest with yourself you would admit that it’s his personality that gets you. The magazines are right about women in that aspect, personality matters, more so than looks, a good-looking guy or girl is just a bonus. With him you feel that he is genuine, passionate, and has so much to give and to prove which may end up being his kryptonite. With those feelings you automatically know that someone has hurt him before. You recognize it because you know its feeling down to the core.

 

Aria Edgewater, you know you are in trouble, if you’re not as compassionate as a saint then you might as well call yourself a liar. You are the worst, most horrifyingly atrocious liar there ever was. For instance your mind brings up the time you locked yourself out of the apartment and you were on the balcony in the middle of winter because you were testing the velocity and viscosity of human saliva and blood per half degree increase. As soon as you were done you found yourself locked out due to the dodgy window freezing shut, you honestly had no idea that the tea spilt and froze it solid. With no other choice you climbed the balconies up to Sean’s window and threw yourself inside landing on top of his girlfriend of the week. Oops. Arms flailing and legs kicking you fall off and cover your eyes in horror of the half naked people in your line of vision.

 

“AHH! WHAT THE _FUCK_ SEAN?!? WHO THE HELL IS THIS?!?” said the woman with fake boobs, honestly? Those were as fake as the cheese in the deli.

 

“Ari?? Wha-what are you doing here? Why did you ‘conveniently’ pop out of my window?” Sean asks confused and a bit put off. Uh oh.

 

“Umm… hehe…funny story actually…you see…well I wasn’t doing anything dangerous at all,” I emphasis emphatically with my eyebrows, “I was actually watering my plants, Bard and Smaug,” at this Sean closes his eyes and inhales deeply, “and well my window got stuck and I thought…umm your window is always open and now I am…here,” I say gesturing widely at the room, noticing the table full of half empty wine glasses and candles. Oh man he is going to kill me.

 

Giving me the stink eye, Miss Astro-Boob crawls off Sean with a huff and stomps toward the door squeezing into her what can only be described as Baby Gap clothes and actually nice heels, too bad you’re too clumsy to wear them they look amazing, and slams the door shaking the pictures on the wall.

 

“Nat-,” the only word left hanging in the air. Closing my eyes shut, I wait for him to start yelling. ‘I should have just stayed outside’ I think to myself. Hearing a frustrated sigh instead of yelling, I peek through my hair at Sean, who’s just lying there.

 

“S-sorry Sean,” I mutter, “I’ll get going, night,” I whisper making my way to the door, of course, leave it to me to ruin his Christmas date. The couch groans under his weight, he sits up and says, “Ari, it’s fine, honestly, I didn’t even like her that much,” he chuckles without humor. “She thought Egypt wasn’t in Africa, and that H1N1 was the name of a droid in Star Wars.” I let out a weak chuckle, “Sorry I ruined your date, I’ll be downstairs if you need anything,” I say opening the door.

 

Before I walk out an arm wraps around my waist pulling me into a hug. “You know Ari? For someone so smart, you are really dumb, you know that?” he says into my hair. “Hmm, you may be right. I think H1N1 would be a perfect droid,” I mutter sarcastically. Laughing in my neck, he leans in toward my ear, “You know you’re a terrible liar, right? You obviously tell the truth and _then_ try to lie your way out, besides your plants died months ago when you watered them with tea. On accident of course.”

 

“Aria, no matter what you need, I’ll be here. You know that right? I’m not going to leave you. I’m not them,” he turns you around to face him, “I will never hurt you. Your pain is mine, even your gift knows that,” he points to my heart, you know that giving him those gothic novels would make him sappy, but that’s why you love him.

 

“Sean, I know you will but someday you won’t be here for me, and I realize that my… burdens are mine to carry, not yours, not anyone’s. I have to, because what’s life without a little hardship, I’ll have a heck of a story to tell one of these days, maybe even a adventure,” I say with a shrug, fully aware of the truth in my suddenly serious words, crap I am becoming an adult.

 

“Hopefully that day will never come. Enough of this gloom and doom let’s get some ice cream! My treat.” he declares, grabbing his jacket and keys. “You get it free anyway, since you sleep with everything that’s remotely resembles a female in this town,” I joke walking down the hallway, “and the cashier still thinks your name is Lon.”

 

“Who’s fault is that?” he pipes in, “Miss ‘I-eat-ice-cream-only-in-the-winter-time-that-my-tongue-goes-numb-so-my–words-are-half-assed’?” I smack his arm, “True, but deliciously so,” both laughing we lock up and head downstairs.

 

You are shaken out of your reverie when he comes back, you realize you don’t actually know what his name is and it would be so embarrassing if you called him Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome to his face. You turn to him and feel a shift in his mood, its more angsty and subdued, long gone is the excitement and curiosity you felt moments before his abrupt departure. Crud, he _is_ freaked out.

 

“Hey, do you want some gum?” you offer lamely, trying to settle the ever changing moods you feel radiating off of him. Emotions are zinging around like a pinball machine that you feel nauseous. Struggling with your inside pocket (ugh girl pockets) your right hand gets stuck forcing you to emulate a teapot.

 

Gum is the only thing that fits in your pocket and not allowed in your bag, you have your precious laptop to thank for that. Hearing a stifled chuckle you turn around in your odd contortion and see his shoulders shake from repressing his booming laugh you somehow manage to always evoke from him. With a sigh you ask for his help awkwardly shifting around the seat.

 

His hands are impressive, with long artistic fingers and a strong steady grip and you immediately compare them to Sean’s thicker and tanner carpenter ones. You both maneuver in sync and your hand pops out and you triumphantly wave the gum around with a grin on your face. Honestly, a pack of gum should not make you this excited. Sinking back into the chair you thank him and he offers a small smile in return.

 

“So do you want one?” you question him, tossing the gum back and forth between your hands waiting for his answer and suddenly it drops onto his lap. You freeze, he freezes, your face heats up and you gulp slowly raising your eyes to his poker face. Seriously this guy is good at hiding things. Your gaze shifts from his amused smirk to his lap a few times in hesitation, you really don’t want to reach in his lap to get the gum, you ponder whether or not your favorite mango mint gum is worth the sacrifice. Before you invade his space with horrifying embarrassment, a shaky hand, and closed eyes he gives in picking up the packet off of his long, quite nice legs and pops a piece into his mouth. His sensual lips curl up into another heart stopping smirk and he hands it to you with a low, “thank you,” and you die.

 

Not really, you are very much alive and in shock that such a thing just happened. You the girl who never wants to go out, who shops online, and never gets involved with anyone remotely male except Sean just, perhaps, _may have_ just experienced an episode of flirty encounter. An encounter with a stranger without the awkward creepy vibe, which is a plus in your books. A quick “you’re welcome” tumbles out of your mouth, you take the offered packet and toss 3 pieces into your mouth to calm yourself down. A murmur reaches your left ear and you realize that he is saying something to you, with a “hmm?” you face him, both cheeks puffed out like a squirrel, and he chuckles again while you slowly die from mortification. Honestly, you have no idea how to act around people hence why you prefer to stay home and work where there is no need to show people your manky habits and exceedingly awkward body language, thanks to some old broken bones sitting or standing too long tends to ache causing you to always shift into weird positions to relieve the pain.

 

He looks at you, “I asked you what flavor this gum is, it is quite delicious by the way,” he blows a bubble with ease. Really? This wonderful, silly, gorgeous man is with the Ice Queen? Can the universe hate you more? Oh well, it’s not like you had a chance, awkward clumsy you compared to stylish confident her, wow it is a tossup, isn’t it? Not. Really, you are at negative 3000 on the self-confidence level. With a nonchalant shrug you say “it’s mango mint, my favorite, I googled to see if it’s available in London, but sadly nay, it’s not,” I express dramatically, if I don’t have a chance there’s always the few hour long friendship, “so I bought 10 packs of them,” you declare to his amused and raised eyebrow. Oh man. You just need to tell him what happened, live through the rest of the flight, and never see him again, you’ve done your good deed of the day. You don’t do attraction.

 

From what you have witnessed, read, and seen, be it fiction or real-life, attraction is in the negatives in your book. You indeed have a book, a little black journal where you write _everything_ down, feelings, thoughts, quotes, ideas, recipes, what have you in the book. Attraction complicates everything, for instance the girl always ends up liking the guy more, he cheats, something gets in the way or sabotages the relationship, she leaves, he shows up the next day declaring he _really_  loves her and she takes him back with no thought to whether or not he will cheat again. Hence why you don’t want to fall in love, it’s a chance you don’t want to take a chance on.

 

When a happy silence overthrows the conversation for a few seconds, you decide to tell him what happened, it couldn’t be that hard right?

 

“Umm, can I...I hmm...what is your name?” you ask hesitantly, not sure if it violates your rules of attraction, because you know that once you give something, in this case someone, a name you are automatically attached to it. This will not end well, how cheesy is that? It’s just a name, but as Romeo said, _my name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, because it is an enemy of thee_.

 

He stiffens slightly; crap he probably just wanted an anonymous plane fling, typical bloke, they’re the same no matter the country. “Lucas,” he says quietly. Or not. Your ears barely register the volume it was said at, hmm…Lucas, _Bringer of Light._ He glances at you through thick lashes, darn males getting the good genes, like bloody birds pea cocking all the time. 

 

You notice that you’re giving off, for a lack of a better word, a 'tiny bit bitchy' vibe and it’s aimed right at him. Crap. You offer him an apologetic look and another piece of gum as a peace offering, he grins and takes it. His mood is light and airy not burdened anymore, good. Clearing your throat you say, “Aria, my name is Aria,” you give him a little grin and hold up your hand in greeting, he laughs and envelopes your whole hand in his, “ _pleasure_ to meet you… _Aria_ ,” your name rolls of his tongue like chocolate and caramel, smooth and rich in texture. Someone call the cops because I am in _trouble_. “Likewise Lucas,” you hear yourself saying. “Do you... ," you look down at your hands and let out a deep breath, "do you _still_ want me to tell you what happened?” you ask in a whisper taking a glance at him face for a reaction. _Would he think you're a freak? Would he run away? Would he?  
_

 

He quickly glances towards the front of the plane, where you notice the parting curtain slightly fluttering, hmm…questionable. You’ve noticed so far that he is a bit cop-like, always aware of movement, sounds, in complete control of his body and as quite a fox with ears like a hawk. He nods, you start by telling him again of how you felt his distress and wanted to help. He grips the armrest slightly, nodding for you to continue, you both are leaning into one another, whispering quietly so as to avoid eavesdroppers. The small enclosed space smells of mango and mint with a hint of his spicy cool scent, you allow a small smile to grace your lips. He reciprocates.

 

“Well, I guess the technical term for what I am is ‘empath’. Basically, feeling emotions of others around me. Sometimes, if I concentrate, I know what people are _thinking_ based on their present emotion as well,” I shrug and tilt my head, “ if I’m lucky, I can still feel the emotions of Sean, my friend, even when one of us is far away,” he leans back a bit, I continue as if I didn’t notice that minuscule move, “ but what I did for you was…odd, I-I’ve never actually tried to make someone better by memory transference,” you quickly create a term for what you did, he gives you a curious look, “ don’t get me wrong, I don’t regret it, it’s just that it was a first, like an instinct, like when _you_ search for all possible exits, don’t worry I won’t tell, you’re a cop, right?” you ask, he inhales deeply and nods looking a bit apprehensive. “I thought so. I just wanted you to not feel that fear, I wanted to help," you give a small shrug, your heart is beating so fast, but you continue, "Honestly, it wore me out though, I’ve never dug in the _vault_ before,” you say with a slight frown on your face.

 

“Vault?” he questions, his brows furrow in confusion.

 

“Hmm, yeah the vault, it’s-it’s where I put all of my best memories from…from before,” you barely talk to Sean about it anymore, HE has his own vault, one that’s never, never opened. Your heart is hammering a bit, and your breathing has turned to slight panting, you tug at your shirt collar. 17 years have passed and you still act like you're 7 years old. A warm hand covers your shaky one. It feels natural, like you've done this before.Taking a deep breath you continue, drawing strength from Lucas, “they’re my happiest memories when I was a child, the one I chose to share with you was of-”

 

“Of your mother,” he finishes for you, you shoot him a befuddled glance, he closes his eyes and starts, “ the memory you shared with me was similar to watching a movie, I saw a beautiful woman, she was pregnant, and telling a girl, I assume it’s you, I’d recognize those eyes anywhere,” he tells you with a smile, that is cheesy yet it makes your heart flutter, “that she was going to be a big sister and I felt your happiness like it was my own,” he finished, his steel blue eyes asking the unanswered question.

 

You turn away and unconsciously fold in on yourself, “Dead,” you state matter-of-factly, cold and emotionless. Your previous calm and giddy disposition fade away. You close your eyes, locking away the vault, your heart. Warm leather invades your senses, you stiffen and open your eyes, Lucas as it turned out has gathered you in his strong arms, you can feel his muscles flexing under the buttery soft leather, and slowly you relax, taking comfort from him. You know that he knows he can’t change the past or take away all of the pain, but he can offer his comfort, his soothing presence chases away all bad things. You realize what you are feeling, you've felt it once before, you've felt _protected_. You like it, even though you know nothing good can come of getting attached. Pushing that thought away for now, at least until the plane lands, you find solace in his arms and combined with the heat of your bodies, you both drift asleep. A peace filled and contented rest. ‘Just until the plane lands’ you mumble sleepily. Lucas arms tighten around you. Scents of caramel and spice mix in the air, making one passenger wonder which fashion designer created it and another frosty passenger to make a call to a certain Harry Pearce.

 

 

 


End file.
